


Refuge

by ifitwasribald



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifitwasribald/pseuds/ifitwasribald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor meets Jack, but it's not his Jack.  The Doctor can't ask what went wrong, but he can provide comfort, of a sort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refuge

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place immediately after Boomtown, and also immediately after Children of Earth.

After the mess in Cardiff had been sorted—lucky the TARDIS had taken care of the problem, though the Doctor had to admit that he would have gone through with delivering the adult Blon Fel-Fotch Pasameer-Day Slitheen home to her death if he'd had to—Jack and Rose had insisted on fun. Something bright, and cheerful, and Jack had known just the place. Upsilon Andromedae IV, with its low gravity, brilliant array of tiny, swiftly-moving moons, and high oxygen levels, was exotic enough in this part of the galaxy to have a highly successful, highly profitable 42nd century tourist trade. Whole cities were designed as themed resorts. The one Jack had chosen was based on 39th century Inter Minor, which, judging by the proffered entertainment here, was a planet-wide, century-long bacchanal. 

Jack had taken Rose to some club or other that was particularly fashionable. The Doctor, though, was in an increasingly irritable mood. The relief of the end of the escapade had worn off, and left in its place a dull ache where Blon Fel-Fotch’s remarks had hit a touch too near the mark. So the Doctor had sent the pair of them off on their own, making clear that he hadn’t the slightest intent of leaving the TARDIS.

As it happened, though, it was only minutes after his companions had cleared out, taking their banter and laughter with them, that the Doctor realized he was too restless to stay put. He popped out, just for some air, but before long he’d chatted up a young reptilian bloke tending a stall selling all manner of highly suggestive jewelry, and received an enthusiastic recommendation for a bar frequented almost exclusively by the locals who worked in the area.

The place was dimly lit and infrequently cleaned, in the manner of dive bars throughout the galaxy, and the Doctor took a shine to it immediately. It suited his mood, as did the silent nod and prompt service that followed his drink order. He took his alterian brandy to a booth in the back corner—by habit one from which he could see the doorway. 

So it was that, even in his present state of mind, he noticed almost immediately when Jack walked in the door.

The Doctor frowned in surprise, curious how Jack had found him and why he’d left his glamorous club to begin with. Surprise was quickly replaced by anger that Jack appeared to have left Rose behind somewhere, unescorted and unprotected. Worry that Jack had done so other than by choice followed immediately on the heels of anger. The Doctor was already on his feet by the time he realized that something was very wrong, and that it had nothing to do with Rose.

Jack was different. Outwardly he looked much the same—the same ridiculous greatcoat he’d worn when they’d first met, the same smooth, young skin, hair only slightly longer than when the Doctor had seen him an hour ago. The posture, though, was completely changed—where the Jack he was used to was all cocky exuberance, this Jack was bone tired, as if he held himself together by sheer force of will, and that even that was coming undone around the edges.

The Doctor’s sudden movement had attracted the attention of most of the bar, and Jack’s face turned in his direction. The sight of Jack’s eyes removed the Doctor’s last doubt that this Jack was a very different man than the one he knew. Meeting this Jack, speaking with him, would violate every rule of time travel protocol and every iota of common sense he possessed, and yet, the Doctor found himself incapable of averting his eyes.

Jack appeared to have no such trouble. The moment he laid eyes on the Doctor he seemed to swear under his breath, and turned to duck out of the bar as quickly as he’d come.

The Doctor knew better—he absolutely knew better—but still he found himself outside the bar before he’d realized he was moving, pelting down a street paved with what appeared to be jeweled cobblestones, chasing after a man he had no business knowing even existed.

 

Jack ran with desperation, but also clear fatigue, and after only three blocks he stumbled, falling hard against the cobbles. A few more strides and the Doctor reached him, crouched down and hut a hand on his shoulder. The contact sent a frisson of electricity up the Doctor’s arm—a strange fusion of fond familiarity and some kind of wrongness that left him momentarily stunned.

“Jack…” was all he managed, as the man scrambled to his feet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jack demanded, his voice harsh. “I can’t…” he began, and then paused, eyes briefly glistening in the light of the gaudy streetlights before he recovered himself. “I’m not from the right part of your timeline—don’t tell me you couldn’t tell.”

The Doctor had the grace to look mildly ashamed. “I could tell.” His strong hand gripped Jack’s shoulder tightly. Every Time Lord instinct might be shrieking the same logic that Jack presented, but something deeper said that he couldn’t let Jack—any version of him—run away when he was in such obvious pain. “I don’t care.”

Jack seemed to waiver for an instant before allowing himself to crumple into the Doctor’s arms. The Doctor held him for a long moment, ignoring the curious looks of passersby, until Jack pulled away slightly. “We’re attracting attention.”

“The TARDIS is just around the corner, and past-you won’t be back for hours. You and Rose are at some club playing moonlight billiards or some such. Whole bloody world’s a bit Disney for my taste, but you lot…” he trailed off, realizing how far removed Jack was from the man he was describing. He shrugged an apology and put an arm around Jack’s back, guiding him towards the TARDIS. “C’mon.”

Jack pliantly walked along as indicated, lost in thoughts of his own. As they reached the side street where the TARDIS was parked, memory seemed to dawn on him and he swore softly. “Upsilon Andromedae IV, of course. I’m an idiot.”

“Could have told you that,” the Doctor remarked, as he unlocked the door and let Jack in.

“Yeah, well, if I remember right it was a very long night. Rose and I—”

“Oi! None of that now… you know better than to spoil the ending.”

Jack began to laugh, heartily but without much in the way of cheer. “Trust me, Doc, if I couldn’t keep a secret about the future the universe would have just about imploded by now.” He sobered. “But you’ve got a point—we shouldn’t be doing this. The longer we talk the more likely I am to give something away. I should go.”

The Doctor might almost have let the Jack’s prudence, and his own, win the day, if it weren’t for the mix of relief and longing that animated every line of Jack’s body as he looked around the TARDIS. Jack was a man so obviously, painfully in need of some small comfort that the Doctor felt as if he were looking into a mirror. “We’d best not talk then,” he noted calmly, and cupped Jack’s cheek with his hand, drawing him into a deep kiss.

Jack returned the kiss as if he were starving, held on to the Doctor’s arms as if he were a drowning man. There was none of the artful playfulness that the Doctor had to admit he had imagined on more than one occasion. This Jack was all need.

The two of them were out of their clothes faster than the Doctor would have thought possible, and his reaction to Jack’s hand on his cock reminded him that Jack wasn’t the only one here with a need to fill, an ache to sooth.

Then they were kissing again, pressed up against one of the supports of the TARDIS. Jack moved to kneel, but the Doctor gently shook his head and grasped the side of Jack’s face again. “Just for tonight, what’s say you let me. What do you want, Jack?” he asked intently.

Jack looked up into the Doctor’s eyes, and at first managed only “please.” It occurred to the Doctor to marvel that Jack, even this Jack, had any hesitation at asking for precisely what he wanted, but that thought, and every other, flew straight from his mind as Jack spoke again: “please fuck me.”

Thought he would never have admitted it afterwards, the Doctor groaned audibly at the mere words before recovering enough to reply with a cheerfully lewd “gladly.” He kissed Jack once more before breaking away to rifle through his pockets.

“You don’t have to,” Jack noted quietly, stepping over and wrapping his arms around the Doctor from behind him as he searched. For a moment the Doctor thought that Jack simply meant that he had his own lube close to hand, but a beat later realized his true meaning.

“None of that,” he told Jack sternly, finally fishing a small bottle out of the third inside pocket of his discarded jacket. He turned to face Jack and put a hand on his arm, watching Jack for a moment with compassion in his eyes before kissing him again, first gently, then harder.

Jack turned away from the Doctor and leaned slightly over the console. He reached behind him with one hand to grasp the Doctor’s hip, pulling the man close in behind him. “Please.”

A shiver of lust ran through the Doctor’s body at that one word, spoken with such desire and desperation. It was all he could do to hold himself back, and he realized that Jack didn’t want him to. The Doctor hastily lubed two fingers. He grabbed Jack’s hip with his other hand and pulled him back onto his fingers.

The instant he pressed into Jack’s entrance the man began to make the most delicious series of moans, gasps, and whimpers, all of which, the Doctor was sure, he heard directly through his cock, with no intermediate steps in ears or brain at all.

“Doctor, please… more…” Jack groaned. “Need you….”

At this last the Doctor barely possessed sufficient self control to carefully lube himself before removing his fingers and almost immediately thrusting himself deep inside Jack. Jack let out a grateful moan and began to rock backwards onto the Doctor’s cock, desperation clearly overriding any attempt at dignity.

The Doctor allowed himself to be momentarily overwhelmed by pleasure of a writhing, moaning Jack Harkness tight around his cock before grabbing the captain’s hips and pressing him firmly against the console. The Doctor pulled back so that only the head of his cock remained inside and paused for a moment, his fingers digging into Jack’s hips and ass as he squirmed. Finally Jack stilled and moaned quietly in protest. The Doctor chuckled at Jack’s tone, a throaty noise full of lust and masked affection. Jack whimpered again and this time the Doctor rewarded him, suddenly thrusting hard and fast.

Jack moaned loudly this time, more of a gasp really, and kept at it, making it clear to the Doctor that every thrust was urgently desired. There was a sharpness in Jack’s voice that the Doctor knew was pain. As a rule the Doctor disliked causing pain, even what “his” Jack would refer to as the fun kind, but he also knew from experience that there were times when nothing felt so good—so necessary—as that sharp counterpoint to pleasure. 

The Doctor could feel Jack’s appreciation in every quiver, hear it in his every sound, and the Doctor knew that his considerable self control wouldn’t last through this display of Jack’s need, so deeply felt and thoroughly satisfied. He reached forward to grasp Jack’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts, and felt Jack’s whole body buck involuntarily under him. From there the Doctor was aware of nothing but a frenzy of motion and pleasure until, moments later, Jack came hard, shuddering beneath him and drawing in ragged breaths so poignantly erotic that they immediately tipped the Doctor over the edge. He shuddered, spending himself deep inside the captain, and sagged against the console.

The Doctor leaned forward over Jack, wrapping his arms around the younger man and leaning against him to take weight off suddenly unsteady legs. For a moment the TARDIS was silent but for the two men’s labored breathing, until the Doctor reluctantly pulled away and turned to lean back against the console next to Jack. Jack looked up at the Time Lord with those too old eyes of his, and the Doctor couldn’t keep his mind from wondering how it could possibly come to pass that the Jack he knew would one day soon become this man. Jack seemed to sense the thought, or perhaps arrived on the subject on his own, because he ducked his head, and murmured, “I shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” the Doctor agreed, “but I’m glad you are.”


End file.
